


All of the animals

by Teland



Series: Other Paths [6]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: 1998, M/M, casually gruesome racism, is that even a tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-09-15
Updated: 1998-09-15
Packaged: 2020-11-27 12:57:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20948723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: What we see, what we know





	All of the animals

Alex Krycek leaned back against the shower wall, careful of   
the bottle in his hand. Open, tilted away from the stream,   
slowly depleting. The first thing he'd done after leaving   
Mulder's place was find himself an all night liquor store.   
Nothing fancy, just a bottle of J.D., dark and smoky and   
obliterating. 

The problem had come in trying to find someplace   
appropriate to appreciate his prize. The great outdoors was   
both prosaic and far too dangerous these days. One wouldn't   
have been so bad; both together were unforgivable. There   
was the option of any one of his hidey holes, but even   
Mulder's place had been... 

So he'd wound up right back where he'd started from,   
Walter's place. Had enough time to regret the fact he'd   
already started drinking as he picked the older man's very   
new, far too secure locks. And then he'd taken a look   
around the place, felt a pang of something harsh. It was   
too clean, too neat, too simple, and the bottle didn't feel   
any better here. Not even on the balcony...

******

... and he remembered hearing the front door close on   
Mulder's clumsy, apparently shellshocked attempt to seduce   
Skinner.

He'd closed his eyes and waited. And waited. He'd awakened   
to a shiver as his body was finally forced to accept the   
fact of cold. And waited. Finally, mid-indulgence in a   
fantasy of his own lashes coated and drooping with sheaths   
of ice, the door to the apartment had opened. A bare moment   
to try to kick his brain into gear, make it figure out a   
way to handle the situation, but then he was being pulled   
to his feet by his collar.

If there was anyone who could glare like Walter he hadn't   
met him. Easy to remember other times when those eyes had   
raked his form, the pleasures that inevitably followed.

"Do you remember when you asked me to lie to you? Sir."

And that had been exactly the way to play it, of course.   
Warm, calloused hand cushioning the slam of his head with   
each powerful thrust. His own hand on a warm hip and it   
felt so good. 

After, Walter had brought him a cup of decaf and they had   
spoken of other times, other deeds, and he'd looked into   
the older man's eyes and seen something he knew, very   
well. And Walter's mouth on his own cock was even less of a   
surprise than the fact that, in the end, he'd left Alex to   
sit right there.

"You could untie me.... I'm not going anywhere." He'd meant   
it, of course. There had been business to be handled. 

"I plan on getting *some* rest tonight..." And there had   
been a ghost of hesitation, perhaps a bit of speculation in   
the dark chocolate eyes. But Alex couldn't stop the flow of   
his own words to try to puzzle out the pause's meaning.

"You could always just handcuff me to the bed, sir." And   
he'd meant that too, but not enough and clearly not in the   
right way. Walter had smiled, briefly and a little sadly.   
And a small part of him knew, then. 

"I plan on getting some rest tonight, Alex."

And he'd smiled back, small and honest and acknowledging,   
and waited for morning.

******

Back in the present a brief, chill breeze worked over his   
nape and he could -- almost -- feel a strong arm pulling   
him back against that massive chest. Feel a chin settle on   
his shoulder. Sense an ostentatious peer beyond him. Hear   
a dry, earthen rumble:

"I hope you haven't thrown anyone *else* off my balcony,   
Alex."

And he could -- almost -- hear exactly how the laugh he'd   
make would mutate into sobs. And then someone really would   
have to go off the balcony.

And so he'd taken himself as quietly as possible up the   
stairs and paused in front of the bedroom door. Took a   
swig, carefully. He knew it was sheer luck that he hadn't   
woken Walter already, and though Alex resented the   
solitude inherent in wakefulness, he also knew he was no   
fit company. The shower, then, and setting the bottle down   
just long enough to undress was a trial, and the fact it   
was a trial made him snarl.

Looking up into darkness, eyes adjusting to a hazy   
rendering of his usual night vision, Alex watched the   
steam rise into tiled corners. Wanted to touch it. Knew   
he'd been drinking for too long. A shadow fell over the   
curtain, large and silent and Walter- shaped. Alex bit his   
tongue in an attempt to get himself back under control.

"How long are you planning on staying in there, Alex?"

//I wondered how long you were just going to stand there,   
Krycek.//

Alex shuddered, and couldn't blame it on the still-warmer-  
than- tepid water. "Christ, Walter, don't... don't say   
that." 

Walter threw back the curtain and just looked at him. 

"I suppose there's no point in asking how it went with   
Mulder."

Alex closed his eyes, let his head fall back against the   
shower wall. Didn't flinch when Walter reached past him   
and retrieved the bottle. Allowed himself to be tugged   
from the shower and dried thoroughly, knowing full well   
that Walter knew he wasn't nearly as drunk as he was   
playing it. 

Finally, the towel was slung around his back and he was   
being efficiently yanked into a kiss that ended with him   
burying himself in the darkly muscular neck.

"What the hell do you want with me, anyway?"

//Fuck.//

He tried to pull off, make it into a joke but Walter   
wouldn't let him. That only made him angrier and he heard   
himself growl. Instant release, which was both appreciated   
and regretted. He wanted another arm to grab. He did his   
best to cover his face with his hand, started to turn.   
Abruptly, there was another hand sliding into place over   
his left eye.

And he could close his eyes then, and laugh silently at the   
absurdity. He could rock just a bit, and if the motion led   
him back into Walter's embrace that was all right, too.   
Long moments in a bathroom lit only by shameless moonlight.   
Walter smelled like quiet and sleep, never mind the heat   
against him, making him smile despite himself.

"Any chance on moving this somewhere I wouldn't have a   
towel rack digging into my spine?"

Something told Alex that Walter wouldn't have minded   
letting the small, hot droplet stand on its own, but he   
played it off with a lick, anyway. 

"Sure thing, Waaalterr..."

Laughing shudder and he was being spun, awkwardly out the   
door. Into the bedroom, onto the bed. Luxurious, perfect.   
Gave only just enough. One lazy morning Alex had checked,   
and was gratified to find solid oak boards resting between   
the mattress and box spring. Of course. 

Another kiss and when that hand gripped him hard and slick   
Alex moaned around the calmly possessive tongue before   
throwing himself back and thrusting up and into the   
welcoming fist.

"Look at me."

And when he did it was all right to let Walter see it all,   
just this once, because he knew it would make him happy. 

Afterward, something to be treasured: watching Walter   
watching him -- the slow burn in the older man's eyes as   
he licked the wide, hard palm clean; planted an   
embarrassingly light kiss on the blunt fingers. Alex   
pushed the older man flat and began to mouth-map the   
lightly furred torso with slow care.

"I never told you about the Lucky Man, did I, Alex?"

"I never told you how annoying it is that you can hold a   
conversation in moments like these, did I?"

Walter only met the snark with a chuckle, ran his fingers   
through the damp, spiky softness of Alex's hair and pulled   
him closer. "This is important."

Alex quirked an eyebrow, ran a slickly clever tongue around   
one nipple before rolling off to the side again. The groan   
was certainly satisfying. "I'm listening."

The cheerful glower promised revenge, the smirk:   
anticipation. But then Walter's eyes went far away.

"Fortune teller in Saigon. Some sort of runes, figures... I   
really don't know what to call them. You know what I mean,   
though?"

Alex nodded.

"Anyway, they were carved on these flat bone discs, and the   
discs were in this old wooden bowl. Me and Freakshow -- his   
real name was Foster, you understand -- wound up there   
Christ only knows how. Mama-san was old and leathery.   
Looked like you could use her skin to patch a boot. We were   
both this close to blind on that nasty Vietnamese beer   
that you really couldn't help but grow to love, after the   
sixth or seventh--"

"I've learned that tends to be true of any alcoholic   
beverage."

"Smart ass. This was a *different* sort of love... Anyway.   
We toss Mama-san a few bills, she shakes the bowl. Out   
spills this crazy scrawled thing. She points at us and   
laughs. Says something that I translated, roughly, to   
"Lucky Man," or maybe "Fortunate One." Close to that,   
anyway, and I never really wanted to get much deeper than   
that..."

Alex nodded his understanding, let his hand wander the   
planes of the familiar chest. Walter caught it briefly,   
gently. Ran a thumb over his wrist before releasing him   
again.

"Anyway, we had no idea which one of us she was talking   
about. Spent the next few days arguing about it at   
*length*, especially since we both found ourselves back in   
the shit without getting laid *once*--"

Alex snickered quietly and took it as his cue to start   
tugging at the boxers. Walter raised his hips helpfully   
and Alex began planting small kisses in the shallow bowl of   
the older man's hip. The hand in his hair neither tugged   
nor petted, it was simply there. 

"Freakshow died not long after that. Sniper fire. Stupid   
sonofabitch, too. Stood there and *watched* to see if he'd   
gotten anyone. Well, he had, but so did we. A squad's worth   
of M-16s can do some damage to a man.... Felt like hours   
but it was probably only minutes before we turned back for   
Freakshow." Walter paused then, nearly imperceptibly, but   
it made Alex eyes narrow slightly. "He'd taken a clean hit   
to the head and his arms and legs.... Well, he was the   
rune. The Lucky Man."

Alex stopped, rested his head on the scarred, shifting   
abdomen and looked up. "A little cosmic irony with your   
blow job, sir?"

Walter laughed again, not nearly as darkly as the situation   
seemed to call for. "No, Alex, I don't think so. Or maybe   
it was. But.... Think of it this way: A few weeks after   
that the entire squad except for me was mown down in an   
even nastier fashion. I got to survive, feel my clothes rot   
on me, hear the voices of the dead and dream of corpses,   
dancing, dancing...."

"So he was the Lucky Man." 

"Yes, and so was I. I did, after all, get to survive. They   
told me later that I laughed for days..." Walter trailed   
off for a bit and Alex settled. He could understand the   
power of memory. "There was something so... so perfect   
about the Lucky Man. About a God or perhaps just the   
random force of the universe showing me so much in a bone,   
in a casual, meaningless fling of limbs.... In a lot of   
things, Alex."

Walter caught his eye, then, and the fingers in his hair   
stiffened slightly. Some things needed acknowledgment. 

"I understand, Walter. I may even believe you, someday."

Gentle, rueful smile. "We take what pleasures we can get,   
eh?"

There was a long moment in which something inside him   
swelled to a burning ache, and then he was shaking free and   
taking the older man as deep as he could, licking and   
sucking and humming and the helpless spread of powerful   
thighs to give him easier access, the low, rumbling groans   
were perfect. No difficulty in this, just the simple joy   
of pleasuring a man who claimed to have reason to care for   
him.

He could allow himself this, the luxury of an outer belief.   
And the small, bright, sharp thing that refused to believe   
otherwise was just fine, too. It was the sort of pain you   
grew to love.

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~


End file.
